The Skinny Bridge--Magere Brug--in Amsterdam

POTW: Amsterdam’s Magere Brug, the Skinny Bridge

The most famous bridge in Amsterdam is lovely, but the “Skinny Bridge” is not really all that skinny anymore.

There’s a reason Amsterdam is called the “Venice of the North.” Riddled with canals and the Amstel River as it is, it has more bridges than any other city in the world… yes, far more than Venice. All this water criss-crossing the city wherever you look calls for hundreds—thousands—of bridges. Some accounts put the number as low as 1250, others at twice that. Apparently, Venice rings up a measly 400. Perhaps Venice should be called the “Amsterdam of the South.”

Arguably the most famous of those hundreds of Amsterdam bridges is the Magere Brug, which translates as the Skinny Bridge.

The Skinny Bridge--Magere Brug--in Amsterdam

The delicate drawbridge called the Skinny Bridge
is the most famous bridge in Amsterdam.

“Throughout the city there are as many canals and drawbridges as bracelets on a Gypsy’s bronzed arms.”
~Felix Marti-Ibanez, Spanish author


The pretty and delicate-looking white wood structure is a double-swipe “bascule” bridge, which means it uses a counterweight system to make opening and closing its two drawbridge “leaves” easy. That’s a good thing because it opens and closes a lot—on average every 20 minutes throughout the day. A common and perfectly legitimate excuse for being late for an appointment in Amsterdam is “The bridge was open!”

Those of us from the true Nomad Women generation might remember the bridge from the 1971 James Bond film Diamonds Are Forever. Ah, for the days of the only real James Bond—and we all know that was the one and only Sean Connery. Seldom mentioned in stories of the bridge is its unhappier memory. It was used as an accumulation point for Dutch Jews about to be shipped east during the Nazi occupation of World War II.

The Skinny Bridge’s first incarnation was built over the River Amstel in 1691. It was apparently so narrow two pedestrians could barely pass each other when crossing the span, creating its popular nickname. If you take one of the famous rondvaart canal boat tours—and you really should—the tour guide will likely tell you a charming but apocryphal story of its name. It goes something like this….

A Delightful Story

Once upon a time, there were two sisters whose family name was Mager. They loved each other very much and insisted on meeting each morning for that much beloved Dutch custom of koffie en koekjes. But getting to each other for this coffee-and-cookies tradition was difficult because they lived on opposite sides of the River Amstel. And so they built a bridge to connect with each other more easily… Poof! The Magere Brug came into being.

The truth is more prosaic, as it so often is. With commerce burgeoning during the 17th-century Golden Age, there was always a need for more means of getting around, running hither and yon, doing business, moving things, making money.

The Skinny Bridge has been rebuilt a few times over its life, first in 1871, when the decrepit little old thing was also widened to allow for more traffic. Fifty years later, the city tried to replace it with a steel and stone construction, but the outcry from the tradition-loving Dutch was loud and long. The new-fangled design was scrapped. The last reconstruction was in 1969, still keeping to the original design. Since 2003, the Skinny Bridge has been closed to all traffic except pedestrians and bicycles.

The bridge is high enough for the low-profile rondvaart boats to pass under it, and it’s pleasant to stand in the center of the span and watch them float past below, especially in the evening when both the bridge and the boats are illuminated.

A Bonus Photo – The Skinny Bridge at Night

The Skinny Bridge in Amsterdam, lit up at night

Amsterdam’s Skinny Bridge is illuminated at night by some 1200 white lights.
Photo copyright Nico Aguilera. CC License


You can find the Magere Brug/Skinny Bridge between the Keizsersgracht and the Prinsengracht, where the Kerkstraat meets the river on the east side and connects it to the Nieuwe Kerkstraat on the west. Take trams 9 or 14 or metro line 54 to Waterlooplein, then walk toward the Amstel. If you need to ask directions, you’ll find that virtually everyone you meet in Amsterdam speaks English.

The Eiffel Tower seen in the distance, framed by an iconic Paris pillar.

Paris is Perfect… and Always Will Be

In the wake of the terrible events this week in Paris, I think this is the perfect time to write something about this beautiful city. Because I believe in solidarity in the face of tragedy and horror. Because #JeSuisCharlie.

Louvre Museum seen from inside the courtyard glass pyramid

The Louvre Museum, seen from inside the I.M. Pei-designed glass pyramid in the central courtyard.

My fear is that, faced with the reality of a terrible terrorist attack on Paris, on Parisians and on freedom of speech itself, some potential travelers to the wonderful “City of Light” will now decide to stay home. That happens so much whenever these terrorists act out their limited vision and hatred anywhere in the world. Logic gives way to irrational fear. People are made to feel vulnerable and they crawl into a shell to protect themselves.

I just want to say this…and to say it very loudly: When we give in to fear, the terrorists win! Fear is their weapon of choice. When they use that weapon against us and we become afraid, i.e. we accept the ammunition they hand us, they win. Our fear is their victory!

I refuse to be afraid of them.

OK, enough about these losers with minds full of nothing but hatred and violence. They will never win, because we won’t let them. So let’s talk about something much more pleasant. Let’s talk about Paris!

She is so beautiful, any time, any season, for any reason.

The Eiffel Tower seen in the distance, framed by an iconic Paris pillar.

The Eiffel Tower is visible from most of Paris and is beautiful from up close or far away.

Paris is always
a good idea.
~ Audrey Hepburn


I made my first visit to Paris when I was 25—a number of decades ago! I loved it then. I loved it on several subsequent visits. And I love it still.

I spent a solo week in Paris in September of last year. I wish it could have been a month. I walked, I looked, I talked to people (a struggle with my very limited French), I ate. I walked some more. I ate some more! And it was all fabulous.

This visit was quite different from that first trip as an eager and adventurous young woman. Back then, I ran from place to place, from museum to monument to not-to-be-missed site, my tattered copy of Europe on $5 a Day always at hand. I wanted see it all, do it all, taste it all.

Now, I am more inclined toward what has come to be called “slow travel.” Maybe it’s age. Or perhaps it’s greater wisdom. Whatever, I took Paris slow, savoring each day and each moment, relaxing into the city at my own pace.

Instead of choosing a hotel for this trip, I used AirBnB to book a tiny studio apartment for the week. It turned out to be cheaper than a hotel and much nicer than a hostel. I moved in, settled, slept till I woke, lingered over morning coffee in a local café, then set off to wander. I walked and walked and walked some more, barely getting the full value of the discounted one-week Metro pass I bought in advance of my trip.

The slower pace meant I saw both less and more of Paris. I saw fewer monuments and museums and more people, fewer works of art on walls and more natural works of art in gardens and parks. I never hurried; I strolled. I stopped and just looked and breathed, tasted and smelled. As it turned out, it was absolutely the best way for me not just to “see” Paris but to experience her.

A corner of the Palais Garnier roofline against a blue Paris sky.

A golden statue glows against a blue Parisian sky at one corner of the Palais Garnier, home to the Paris Opéra until 1989. The company now uses this building mainly for ballet performances.

My first day in Paris, I joined a volunteer from Paris Greeters for a free walking tour. They are offered in various parts of the city and always lead by volunteers who know the neighborhood well. My walking tour was in Montparnasse. My guide was Jean-Jacques, a retired teacher full of wisdom, humor and great stories. Often there are several people in the group, but this day I was the only one on his walk. We wandered at our own pace, stopped for coffee, stopped for photos, and simply had a lovely morning.

Montparnasse is a neighborhood I had never explored before and I learned so much. Jean-Jacques was full of stories about the artists and writers who called this quartier home in the late-19th and early-20th centuries—after Montmartre became too chic and expensive for them! I saw where Degas painted, where Hemingway drank, where Mondrian loved.

Entrance to artist's studio in a hidden courtyard in Montparnasse.

Entrance to an artist’s studio in a hidden courtyard in Montparnasse. I would never have known about it or found it without my Paris Greeters guide, Jean-Jacques. Degas had his studio in this very courtyard.

Me enjoying the sunshine at Cafe de la Rotonde

Enjoying sunshine and coffee at Cafe de la Rotonde in Montparnasse, a favorite hang-out of Picasso, Modigliani and Soutine, Apollinaire and Jean Cocteau, Hemingway, Henry Miller and F. Scott Fitzgerald, Debussy and the ballet dancer Nijinsky, among others.

My main activity throughout my week in Paris was simply walking around this glorious city, often without much of a plan, seeing where my feet would take me. I spent a lot of time sitting in sidewalk cafés just watching the world go by. I wrote in my journal. I took pictures. I breathed in the special magic that is Paris.

The studio apartment I rented was right in the center of the Ile St. Louis. Can you say… LOCATION?? You can’t get any more central in Paris. I fell in love with my neighborhood. There are tiny shops and patisseries and cafés everywhere. The famous Berthillón ice cream store was just around the corner… very dangerous! By my second visit to a neighborhood café or mini-supermarket, I was considered a local.

Another thing that made the location so perfect was that no matter where I was headed, I passed Notre Dame on the way. I spent several hours wandering around the beautiful cathedral, inside and out, taking pictures and just feeling the ancient wonder of this glorious work of architecture and faith.

Notre Dame de Paris at the golden hour

The main facade of the cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris glows in the “golden hour” of late afternoon against a blue Paris sky.

dtatues of saints on the high buttresses of Notre Dame, Paris

Statues of saints line the roof and high buttresses of the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris.
Always remember to look up!


I spent much of one whole afternoon wandering from stall to stall of the book and print sellers along the banks of the Seine, mostly along the famous Rive Gauche, the Left Bank. And yes, my suitcase was noticeably heavier when I left than when I landed!

Open-air bookstall along the Left Bank in Paris

When strolling along the Rive Gauche (Left Bank) in Paris, don’t plan to hurry… ever. The open-air book stalls
will be calling your name… if you are like me.

My “slow travel” schedule meant I passed on several of the iconic Parisian must-sees on this trip. I spent very little time in the Louvre, put off by the crowds and my own already tired feet. I never made it to the Champs-Elysées and the Arc de Triomphe. I did not get anywhere near the Eiffel Tower—although I did have some lovely views of it from all over the city. It is pretty hard to miss!

I did make it to the Cluny Medieval Museum, in the heart of the Quartier Latin on the Left Bank. It is one of my favorite spots in Paris, and I spent more than an hour just sitting peacefully with the gorgeous tapestries in the “Lady and the Unicorn” series. It is basically impossible to capture the vibrancy and life in these centuries-old weavings in a photo—at least for me—but here is a taste.

A detail of one of the series of medieval tapestries The Lady and the Unicorn.

A detail of one of the famous “Lady and the Unicorn” tapestries from the middle ages.
In the Musée de Cluny, Museum of the Middle Ages, in Paris.

I was fortunate with the weather. Except for waiting out one short rain squall in a doorway crowded with a few other Parisians near the Opéra, the sun shone brilliantly, sparkling off the waters of the Seine and pulling my eye up to roof lines and chimney pots, sculptures and that ever-present view of the Eiffel Tower.

I wandered through the Jardin de Luxembourg and the Park behind Notre Dame, snapping photos of flowers and lovers. What better place than Paris to photograph lovers?

Parisian lovers

Paris is for lovers….

Parisian lovers kissing on a concrete wall.

… and you can see them everywhere.


On my last day in Paris, she gave me a special gift… a perfectly Parisian sunset that set the Seine aglow, an apt image to remember her by.

 Parisian sunset

What could be more beautiful than Paris at sunset…?

This was not my last visit to Paris, of that I was determined. In fact, I have already booked my return ticket, this time for the spring. Paris in April! What could be more perfect?

What should I make it a point not to miss on my next trip to this golden, gorgeous, light-filled city? Tell me in the comments below.

The portales in the main plaza of San Miguel lit up at night.

POTW: The Portales in San Miguel de Allende at Night

Once again, for the Photo of the Week I’ve chosen the picture that is #1 on my Instagram account, a night shot of the portales in San Miguel de Allende, where I live. These arched and covered sidewalks run alongside the Jardín Principál, the main central plaza in San Miguel.

I was not prepared for this shot since I had no tripod with me. I was walking home one evening after a dinner with friends when I saw the lights all glowing on the old cantera stone arches and knew I had to take this. I backed up to the wall of a building on San Francisco, braced the camera flat against the wall, held my breath to minimize camera shake and clicked the shutter. It was a pretty long exposure and I had no idea if it was going to come out sharp or shaky, but I was pleased with the resulting shot.

When I first came here in 1989, the portales in San Miguel and the Parroquia were not lit up at night. Nor were the streets surrounding the Jardín closed off to traffic. Both these changes have added so much to the aura of the centro.

The portales in the main plaza of San Miguel lit up at night.

The portales in San Miguel de Allende glow beautifully in the lighting the city has installed, highlighting the details on the 18th century cantera stone buildings.

The portales in San Miguel are in a very traditional style you see all over Mexico, a remnant of Spanish colonial style. They serve many purposes besides looking elegant and inviting. These graceful covered passageways shade you from the hot sun or protect you from the monsoon downpours in the summer rainy season. In San Miguel, it’s not unusual to see a crowd huddled just under the edge on a rainy afternoon, peering out at the torrents running down the streets—which turn into real rivers, like “kayak-needed” rivers—waiting for the storm to pass. Fortunately, the downpours seldom last long. Then the sun comes out, the water runs off quickly, and the streets dry up. San Miguel is its usual sunny and beautiful self once more.

The portales in San Miguel are also covered mini shopping arcades. The mix has certainly changed since my first visit 25 years ago. Then, the buildings housed a small supermarket, an art supply and book store, a used furniture store, a juice stand. Even a hardware store. The east portales also had an artisans market with stalls selling jewelry, weavings, baskets and decorated tinware. These were moved to the Mercado de Artesania in the ‘90s. The only more-or-less permanent street vendors left are the flower ladies. Today they seem to sell primarily dried flowers and the currently wildy fashionable flower crowns with ribbons. And in the evening, bands of mariachi players in their silver braid-and-button finery, are usually seen leaning against the buildings, waiting for someone to request yet another replay of “Cielito Lindo.”

Nowadays, the spaces have gone upscale and touristy. Those small, practical mom-and-pop stores can no longer afford the rents that being here command. The portales in San Miguel now harbor mostly sidewalk cafes and boutiques. The Café del Portal, on the south corner with a superb view of the Parroquia, is a nice spot for a coffee and dessert. You can get a great Parroquia photo by using the arch of a portal as a frame.

On the opposite side of the Jardin, Rincón Don Tomás is a popular spot with locals to meet for coffee or lunch, catching up and people watching. Just a few doors up, visit El Bazar del Angel, a boutique owned by local writer and radio personality Yolanda Lacarieri. She has a well-chosen collection of jewelry, beautiful scarves and rebozos, San Miguel shoes, hats and San Miguel gifts, including the whimsical hand-painted tin nichos with funny calaca tableaux inside by Estudio Cielito Lindo.

The building at the northwest corner of the Jardín, in the very front of the photo, was once the town home of the Counts of Canal, one of the most important families in San Miguel in the 17th and 18th centuries. They also, of course, had a country home, a huge hacienda with thick walls of gray stone. Now I don’t know about you, but I usually think of a “country home” as being, well, in the country. I suppose at one time it was, but the beautiful and graceful building, with its elegant central patio, interior arcades and a small family chapel, now houses the Instituto Allende art and language school. And it is a 15-minute walk from the Jardín and the family’s “town” house under the portales in San Miguel. It probably took less than 10 minutes on a horse all those years ago, even without much of a road.

When you visit San Miguel de Allende, make sure to take time to wander up and down the portales in San Miguel and feel like you are back in colonial times, with all the elegance that entailed.


I am loving posting photos on Instagram every day, and I think the process has really sharpened my eye as a photographer. Have a look at my Instagram feed and let me know what you think in the comments below.

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View of Las Barrancas del Cobre, the Copper Canyon of Mexico

Company at the Copper Canyon

Finding Unexpected Friends on the Edge in Mexico

 

As I learned at the Copper Canyon of Mexico, not all the best travel experiences involve breath-taking adventures, cultural lessons and deep understanding. Sometimes the best ones are small, intimate, and almost silent. Sometimes they don’t involve people at all… but you can have a party just the same.

 
I flopped onto the bed and kicked off my shoes. It was quiet here, blessedly quiet. No sound but the breeze whispering through pine needles, then scurrying down into the depths of the great canyon below. Las Barrancas del Cobre, Mexico’s fabled Copper Canyon—it plunged below me in more shades of green and gray and rust and yellow than I had words in Spanish. The sun was low, tinting the shadows in the hollows the deep coppery bronze that gives this giant snaking hole in the ground its name.

View of Copper Canyon from Hotel Mirador

View of Urique Canyon, part of Las Barrancas del Cobre, Mexico’s Copper Canyon, in the state of Chihuahua.
Photo copyright Ted McGrath
(CC license)

But I was tired after a long day—though hopefully my passengers were not. As a professional Tour Director, my job was to make their days effortless, exciting, relaxing, adventurous, full of new sights and sounds and information but not over-full, not overwhelming. Name your vacational dream; my job was to provide it. And I was good at it.

But creating all that effortless-looking magic could sometimes be a slog. As a Tour Director you are Social Director, Logistics Manager, Entertainer, Teacher, Emergency Tech, Problem-Solver and Explainer-in-Chief. Also hand-holder and sometime baby-sitter. At the end of the day, your passengers head off to enjoy the bar and the mariachi music and watch the hummingbirds lured by the red-siren sparkle of the feeders hanging on the balcony over the canyon’s edge.

And all you want to do is leave them to it. Hide in your hotel room. Have a hot shower. Read a book. Enjoy the silence. Be alone. Or at least that’s what I thought I wanted that night. I really did.

The Hotel Mirador Posada Barrancas is perched directly on the edge of the massive hole that is the Copper Canyon. You can step onto the balcony of your room and look down on the birds flying below. This night it was chock full. I had a good-sized group on my tour and we were not the only bus-load in the hotel. The dramatic beauty of the Copper Canyon and its iconic train ride made for a popular tour, and every room in the main building was full.

The owners, the Balderrama hotel chain, were building a new wing, way at the top of the property. They called it El Nido del Aguila, the Eagle’s Nest. To get to it, you took a long stone path and stairs that snaked through madron trees, sotol cactus and the long-needled Arizona pines the Tarahumara people use to make their lovely baskets.

Hotel Mirador Posada Barrancas\ on the edge of the Copper Canyon.

Hotel Mirador Posada Barrancas perches right on the cliff edge of the Copper Canyon in Mexico. The “Eagle’s Nest” eyrie at the top was just being built at the time of our story. I was in the first room on the right, likely the first guest in it.
Photo copyright: Bad Alley
(CC license)

 

I finally reached my lovely, quiet, blessedly isolated room. There was no phone. No TV. No radio, no cell signal, no internet connection. The light smell of fresh paint jousted with the sharp tang of the pines edging the balcony beyond a pair of sliding glass doors. There were no other guests in the new, partially built eyrie. I could taste the aloneness and it was delicious on my tongue.

The main building may have been full to the brim with merry-making and margarita-slugging tourists, but up here it was completely and utterly quiet, or at least quiet of human sounds. The best kind of quiet when you spend your day shepherding a few dozen people from point A to Point B, smiling all the while.

It wasn’t really cold enough for a fire, but I was pining for the scent and the crackle and yellow flames to stare into mindlessly. An armload of pine logs and splinters for kindling from outside my door soon had the carved stone chimenea singing its fiery song. I slid open the balcony doors to let in the soft evening air. A long hot shower, a silent sit before the leaping flames restored my soul. I lay on the new bed, listening to the crackle of the fire and the overlaying silence. I ate a cracker, enjoying the bite of salt on my tongue. I reveled in the mundanity of it all. Such rare peace, to be savored in the mouth, mind and muscles.

The First Member of the Party Arrives

I grabbed the book I seldom had the peace to read. After maybe a half hour with it, something made me glance right, at the lamp on the bedside table. That’s when I discovered I was not actually alone. There on the lampshade was a pale brown praying mantis, poised in perfect elegance, head up and face turned toward me. The creature was at least three inches long (about 7.5 cm). His big, calabata-olive eyes were perhaps two feet away, yet he paid me no attention at all. He seemed neither impressed nor bothered by my presence and proximity. He just perched there preening, cleaning his long feelers exactly as if he were a cat.

Praying mantis

A Praying Mantis – “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”
Photo copyright Stavros Markopoulos
(CC license)

One long beige leg came up, the end hooked itself around a feeler and pulled it down in an arc. Then beginning at the head end and moving methodically toward the outer tip, he passed it slowly through his mouth, cleaning each tiny section as it went. That done, he picked up the other delicate front leg, reached up for the other feeler and repeated the process. Then back to the first.

My book lay forgotten as I sat fascinated by the mantis’ performance. I forgot the scent and beauty and depth of the Copper Canyon just outside the sliding doors. I moved as close as I thought I could. He never flinched. I edged a little closer. Any closer and I would not have been able to focus. He was less than a foot beyond my nose.

“Hello beautiful,” I said. He cleaned a feeler. “You are doing a wonderfully thorough job.” He cleaned the other feeler. At one point, he stopped and looked at me for a long moment, then slowly dipped his head as if saying “Yeah, I guess you’re okay. You can stay.”

It might have been ten minutes I watched him, or maybe thirty. I was lost to time, absorbed by the elegance of his movements and the perfection of every part of him. But finally, I did roll away and refocus on my book, leaving the mantis to his prayers and ablutions.

Guest Number Two?

Another chapter read and I glanced back to the lampshade to check on my guest. He was not there. I panicked for a moment, though I don’t know why. He was better suited to this place than I was. But I was worried, so I knelt on the mattress and peered over the headboard and down along and behind the nightstand looking for my pretty new friend.

He was nowhere to be seen. But… there on the floor, just sticking out from under the nightstand, was a minuscule pink nose. It twitched. Then it froze. I moved a fraction and it disappeared. But I had seen enough to recognize a tiny gray mouse.

A small mouse in a corner

A tiny wee mouse came out to say a timid hello. I fed him cracker crumbs.
Photo copyright Sean Dreilinger
(CC license)

On a whim and a hope, I broke off a piece of cracker, crumbled it and dropped it on the floor where the nose peek had been. Then I lay down, hanging crosswise off the edge of the bed, and waited. It took a few minutes. But I think the little guy was hungry. Pretty soon, the nose appeared again, all quivering pink and twitching whiskers. The little lad then darted out from safety, all one-inch-plus of him, grabbed the cracker pieces and darted back to safety again.

“Would you like some more?” I asked politely. “I have plenty.” I crumbled another cracker, dropped it in place and waited. Out he popped, grabbed, scurried back.

We continued the game awhile. I wondered what he was doing with all the crumbs, which must be piling up faster than he could eat them. Perhaps he was a she with a nest of babies clamoring for cracker feedings. I was afraid if I got down to look I would scare her off, and I was enjoying the company.

Praying mantis in silhouette

The praying mantis perched on the headboard behind me, like he was tying to read over my shoulder.
Photo copyright Ken Slade
(CC license)

Eventually I unfolded myself and turned back to my book… only to discover the preacher was back. Praying earnestly just above me, or perhaps studying my book, was the mantis, his delicate body perfectly arched atop the headboard behind me. I wished my book was a field guide to the trees and wildflowers of the Copper Canyon so he could enjoy reading over my shoulder. It was most likely a trashy historical romance novel, but he didn’t seem to mind.

I settled down to read, enjoying the feeling of having companions around me.

…and One More to Come

As the evening wore on and the air got chillier, my feet grew cold. I got up to retrieve some socks from my suitcase, lying on the terra cotta floor. There I startled guest number three to the party in room 101. As I reached into the bag, a wee frog, greeny-brown and no bigger than a gumdrop, hopped out and across the room, stopping only when leap met wall.

“Hoppy” seemed less inclined to be friends than my prayerful insect companion or even Ms. Mouse. He trembled a bit, cornered as he was. I retreated a safe distance to give him a little confidence and watched him. I had no froggy equivalent of crackers to offer and lull him from his fright.

Full night had fallen. The fire had burned down to embers. The subtle sounds of the Copper Canyon had quietened to almost nothing. And tomorrow morning, my passengers would expect me to be “on” and ready—to answer every question, solve every crisis and make sure they got what they had paid for. It was time for everyone to sleep.

I reluctantly turned off the light, tucked my sock-clad feet under me and snuggled down into my brand-new mattress.

I’d left the drapes open to the wide swath of canyon. The sun awakened me with a wink, then a laser, first peeping then pouring over the edge of the canyon’s horizon and straight into my room. I felt more refreshed than I ever feel on tour mornings. Stretching, I looked around the room. There were no visible remains of the party we had held the night before, no bottles or empty cups, no party hats or stretched out streamers. And no guests.

I looked all around. The mantis was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had a lady friend further down the slopes of the mighty Copper Canyon. Perhaps he had been preening the night before just for her, wanting to impress. The frog in the corner had used the cover of darkness to hop off to safety. And Ms. Mouse was who knows where?

The mini-menagerie had all gone home, wherever home was, and I was alone again.

But there was evidence if you looked hard enough. There was proof of our revels. On hands and knees, forehead to the floor, I peered under the night stand, wondering if Ms. Mouse was still there. No mouse and no babies either. But there, in at least a dozen neat little mounds, like miniature haystacks, were heaps of cracker crumbs, precisely spaced, awaiting her return.

I checked my suitcase once more for stray amphibians then closed it and set it outside the door for pick-up. I headed back down the long stone path and stairway, lured by the faint smell of coffee wisping up from the hotel dining room. It was time to show my passengers more of the wonders and glory of Mexico’s Copper Canyon, four times bigger than the Grand Canyon, to introduce them to some of the Tarahumara Indians who lived there, tell them the names of the plants and the trees and the rocks.

But I decided I would not tell them about the party I’d held in my room the night before. I didn’t want to make them feel left out.

View of the Copper Canyon of Mexico

Late afternoon at the beautiful Copper Canyon of Mexico.
Photo copyright Adam Singer
(CC license)


 


Get more information about the Hotel Mirador Posada Barrancas at the Copper Canyon in Mexico.